Mount shrugged his shoulders and turned away indifferently. He had done his part; he had no slur for the dead. The Weasel and I followed, and together we traversed the market-square unmolested, and headed for the "Virginia Arms," discussing the utterly unprovoked attack on us by Butler's band.
There had been five of them; I had recognized Wraxall and Tice, the Weasel identified Murdy, Shemuel had thrust half his stock of needles into one fellow's leg, whom I knew to be the man who had supped on his own hatchet, and Mount had sternly accounted for his assailant.
"So Greathouse is dead," muttered the Weasel.
"One thing is clear: they were after you," observed Mount, turning on me.
"It is strange," I said, "that Butler was not there. He must know what it means for him unless he can strike me from behind, because I shall never miss him, face to face."
I spoke not in boast, nor in angry heat; I meant what I said, and devoutly believed that nothing on earth could shield such a man from the man he had so foully misused.
Coming into Pitt Street we found all empty and dark save for the lanthorn hanging on its pole from every seventh house, and a lone watchman who lifted his light to scan us, but durst not question or stop us, though we bore marks enough of the fray to satisfy any friendly jury of our guilt.
As for Mount, his shirt and leggings were in rags, for he had played Orlando Furioso to his simple heart's satisfaction, and now one naked arm peeped coyly from a flapping sleeve, and his great legs twinkled white under the tattered nether-garments. The Weasel, who had a genius for keeping himself neat under distressing circumstances, appeared to be none the worse for wear, but guiltless he could not be, for he carried a soldier's mitre-cap in his hand and obstinately refused to part with the proof of his valour. As for me, there were some seams which needed a thread, and somebody's blood on my shirt which water would wash away.
"I went this noon to a tailor-woman on the Buckeye Road, and did command me new deer-skins," said Mount. "I will borrow their cost of you," he added, naïvely.
I felt for my money-belt and luckily found it safe. Mount accepted the money cheerfully, promising to show me on the morrow how fine he could be in new clothes, and mourning the fact that his greasy garments had cost him a cruel epithet that day from a maid he had attempted to kiss behind a barn on three minutes' acquaintance.